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Finding King – Chapter 8

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 10/27/2014

Finding King

A tabloid writer for the Weekly World Daily and a Columbia grad student are on the hunt to discover if Elvis is still alive.

Chapter 8 – Tryin’ To Get To You

HELEN: I don’t think that was Elvis.

AARON: ‘Course it was. He said he was.

HELEN: He got a lot of Elvis facts wrong. And he couldn’t even spell his name right.

(Helen & Aaron are exiting an all-you-can-eat Vegas buffet where a 79-year-old ice cream truck driver reluctantly admitted to being Elvis. Aaron glances down at his buffet napkin autographed “Elvira”..)

AARON: (shrugs) He hasn’t been Elvis in a long time. He probably just needs to get reacclimated.

HELEN: It’s just you’ve come all this way, Aaron. I don’t want you to get bamboozled again.

AARON: Listen Helen, I’m writing this story. If you’re not gonna ask your boss at the Post to print it, then I will.

HELEN: (sighs) Fine, I’ll talk to him.

AARON: And then we announce the comeback. The “Back from the Dead Tour” has got a nice ring to it.

HELEN: Better than the “Finally Paying Off My Gambling Debts Tour”.


(Helen gets off the phone as the two ex-tabloid journalists walk up the stairs to the roof of the Bellagio parking garage..)

HELEN: There, you got your story. Why are we meeting “Elvis” on the roof of a parking garage?

AARON: He’s a rock star. They’re eclectic. Front page?

HELEN: Page four.

AARON: PAGE FOUR??

HELEN: With a blurb on the front page.

AARON: No wonder newspapers are a dying monolith. Got friggin’ Elvis Presley over he–

(Helen & Aaron are greeted on the roof of the garage by “Elvis” on his knees flanked by two armed men, guns trained at his head. A third older man with a shock of gray hair exits an armored black SUV and approaches the two..)

PETRINO: Good afternoon, gentleman and lady.

AARON: Uh, hello. Are you Elvis’ manager?

“ELVIS”: I’m not Elvis! I don’t wanna be Elvis anymore!

PETRINO: My name is Salvatore Petrino. I believe you met my men here earlier this week in the Bellagio security room.

AARON: (snaps finger, points at the henchmen) Oh yeah! You’re the two who pummeled me mercilessly.

VITO: Hello, Aaron.

AARON: Hey, Vito. How’s the fist.

VITO: (flexes hand, shrugs) Eh, could be better

AARON: Oh, I’m sorry. I got hard bones.

HELEN: What the hell is going on?

PETRINO: When I heard a young journalist was poking around as to the whereabouts of one Elvis Presley, I took an interest. You see, Elvis bilked the Petrino family out of $10 million forty years ago and we’d like it back.

“ELVIS”: My name is Mitch Colliweather. I’m just an ice cream truck driver. The Elvis thing is a schtick!

AARON: You told me you were Elvis.

MITCH: I thought I could make a quick buck! I never thought Elvis was in such deep shit.

PETRINO: Enough.

HELEN: Mr. Petrino, the man just said he’s not Elvis. He doesn’t even look like Elvis.

AARON: Actually, he looks a lot like Elvis.

MITCH: I do get “Hey, you look like Elvis” a lot.

HELEN: Yeah, because you’re dressed like Elv–I’m not arguing this. He’s clearly not Elvis. Just let him go.

PETRINO: A man will say a lot of things to get out of paying a debt. Boys.

(The henchmen cock their guns and Aaron grips Helen’s hand as three shots ring out. The journalists open their eyes to see the henchmen laying dead, Salvatore Petrino gripping his bleeding leg and Mitch Colliweather pissing his jumpsuit. Aaron spins around in time to catch a whisp of gray hair and a rifle barrel disappear over the wall of the casino roof across the street..)

AARON: (whispers) Elvis.


Send all hate mail to ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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